


my heart is gold (and hands are cold)

by symmetrophobic



Category: GOT7
Genre: Gen, canon!genfic, entirely friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/symmetrophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ghosts have a habit of coming back after you've killed the monsters they once belonged to, and yugyeom is no exception. canon!genfic on the hyung who used to bully yugyeom, inspired by jjp's got2day with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart is gold (and hands are cold)

**Author's Note:**

> canon!genfic on the hyung who used to bully yugyeom, inspired by jjp's got2day with him, and the got7ing ep where yug says the other trainees used to complain about having to bring him along, and jb basically told them to stfu (angry noises because frack jb is such a good hyung??) parent!jjp and babygyeom honestly cannot be overappreciated cries, please love this trio well.

Being big when you’re young has its merits. Yugyeom will not argue with that. Having those few centimeters (length and breadth wise) over someone really does wonders when you’re trying to take their food from them, or get shower priority.

Too bad he’s not exactly all about that life.

At age fourteen, Yugyeom learns that big people were made to be mean. Big people were made to take things for themselves, because only small people are given things, so if big people don’t take what they need, they sure as heck aren’t going to have it.

Predictably, Yugyeom spends his teenage years not having much.

He can’t say things have changed much since then. The only difference is that he’s learnt to appreciate the little things, and if one looks around hard enough, there are always enough little things to be grateful for.

*

Yugyeom had come to the sage conclusion, way after the time it was actually necessary, that if he were as small and cute as he were stupid, he probably would’ve lived a much better life.

(Take Bambam as a prime example. But don’t tell him Yugyeom said that.)

He’d tried, though. Really hard. It’d been during debut days, when they were all the right mix of inexperienced and exhausted and awkward with each other, that he’d attempted to pluck the fruits of his treacherous, menial labour.

“Hyung,” he says out loud, to a half-empty dorm living room. It’s unclear as to who exactly he’s speaking to, but this doesn’t really matter, because it’s one in the morning after fourteen hours of practice and none of the aforementioned hyungs are in the right mind to listen anyway. “Am I cute?”

Jackson snorts in the kitchen, then starts hacking up a storm because he probably snorted milk powder up his nose, or something. Youngjae’s staring at the television, slack-jawed and drooling a little, because reruns of Music Bank are playing and Hyuna is doing body rolls in booty shorts to a pop song Yugyeom can’t remember the name of. Bambam’s showering and pretending he can’t hear him, because they’ve got a year or so to get to the stage where the two of them can survive on their own, much less together.

It’s insulting, almost, being ignored like this (he won’t hold a grudge against Youngjae though, because no one can top Hyuna, in any situation), and Yugyeom sighs. Maybe he should think about doing body rolls in booty shorts too.

Then Jinyoung emerges from the kitchen, looking relatively sane for someone who’s just been in a small enclosed space alone with Jackson for an extended period of time, reaching up (really up) to pet Yugyeom’s hair as he strolls by.

“Of course you aren’t,” he says amiably, with the air of a mother telling her rebellious five-year-old why he can’t fit five kimchi pancakes into his mouth at once, before carrying on his merry way.

He does turn around to call back, though: “And that’s okay.”

Yugyeom stands in the living room for a good ten seconds or so trying to understand what he’d just said, before padding off to his room, feeling oddly comforted despite the fact that Jinyoung did technically just invalidate his purpose and existence as maknae. Obviously, he’d long resigned himself to the fact that Bambam would always be cuter, but it wouldn’t hurt for Yugyeom to want some of the birthright spotlight once in a while, right?

_Right?_

In his room, Mark snores.

*

Yugyeom is a strong, cool, independent young man. Honestly. He puffs his chest out in the mirror and tells himself that every day (in his head, of course, in case anyone else hears it and tells the rest that he’s crazy).

So when Jackson shoves an Instagram photo under his nose one night as he’s trying in vain to eat his pork belly and kimchi in peace, he notably does not flinch. He even smiles.

“We haven’t seen him in  _ages_ ,” Jackson declares, as Bambam wrestles the phone from him. “Double tap and I’ll eat all your meat, you brat.”

Mark chews meditatively on a lettuce wrap. “We should hang out again sometime.”

“Oh wait, we forgot,” Jackson sniggers, throwing a look at the maknae while trying to monitor what Bambam’s doing on his phone. “Yugyeom might cry if he sees the  _Terminator hyung_  again.”

“I won’t-…” Yugyeom says defensively. “I won’t  _cry_. That was ages ago, I got over it before you even got into the team, hyung.”

That shuts Jackson up pretty quick, and it’s Bambam’s turn to howl with laughter.

“For someone who pushes us around so much you’d think you would’ve fought back, or something,” Youngjae grumbles, obviously still smarting from their practice session just now, when Yugyeom had taken his water bottle and played monkey in the middle with Bambam.

Something quiet and angry and ashamed burns at the bottom of Yugyeom’s stomach, and suddenly he wishes everyone would stop talking about it.

“The next time any of you want respect from Yugyeom, you’ll just have to call him over, then,” Bambam pops another piece of meat into his mouth, before nudging the maknae with a grin. “He’ll shut up and listen right away, won’t you, big baby?”

“At least I’m over it now, right?” Yugyeom hates the way that sounds, hates silence even more, so he waits and hopes someone will change the topic. Of course, that doesn’t happen, but then again, it’s not like he was expecting it to, or anything.

“Yeah, anyone would be over it by now, it happened what- three, four, years ago?” Mark’s not even paying attention anymore, looking through his own Instagram feed. It’s the longest sentence he’s strung together all night, and in retrospect it’s a shame he would use it to say something like this. “Besides, that sort of shit happens to everyone, so it’s not like he really did anything  _wrong_ , right?”

Yugyeom goes silent, then, for three split seconds that feel like slow motion explosions in his head, all of which he realises shake him to the core more than anything the _hyung_  in question has ever said to him. He buries his chopsticks in his rice because they’re shaking and it would be hell for him if any of them noticed.

“Yeah,” he laughs. His throat burns and ties itself into straggly knots, so he has to stop. “He never did anything to me,” he blunders even as he tries to cover it up, voice shaking. “I was being dumb.”

Mark’s not listening. Jackson’s fighting to get the phone from Bambam, and Youngjae nods. “Things just got blown out of proportion.”

The lump in Yugyeom’s throat starts burning its way further down, the reverse of when one chokes up bile, and he takes a sip of green tea to excuse himself from the conversation.

But Jaebum clears his throat, then, reaching over to pluck the phone from Bambam’s hands, locking the phone screen and return it to its rightful owner, currently still sulking.

“Shut up and eat, everyone, we have to be on the van in fifteen minutes.”

Yugyeom slips Youngjae his remaining pork slices and rice five minutes later, because he’s lost his appetite. “I snacked just now,” he offers as an explanation.

No one questions him- Youngjae grins, rice on his cheeks, with a loud cheery  _thanks_ , and Bambam’s too busy arguing in English with Mark and Jackson (it’s mostly him and Jackson arguing and dragging Mark unwillingly into the conversation every now and then), and Jaebum’s taking a phone call from Manager while Jinyoung murmurs something into his ear.

It’s ridiculous, Yugyeom scoffs to himself later in the van, because why would he even be afraid of someone who’d been a little mean to him five years ago? None of the others even care about it anyway- everyone gets hurt and everyone’s fine after that and Yugyeom would be stupid to feel otherwise.

Except Yugyeom  _is_  stupid, and that’s probably why he feels otherwise.

It’s a sad thing to realise.

“I’m stupid,” he announces to the bathroom mirror that night, holding a towel to his chest. It echoes around the space, making him feel even tinier than he already does.

“I’m gonna knock him stupid if he doesn’t get out in the next ten minutes,” Jackson complains from outside. Youngjae laughs.

Yugyeom showers, dresses and gets out in nine and a half minutes- almost there, but at least he doesn’t need to time himself anymore, not after years of practice. He chews on his lower lip as he wanders to the kitchen to put his clothes in the hamper, and possibly make some hot milk while the others aren’t around to take it from him.

Too bad Jaebum’s already there, grumbling over a pile of colourful underwear. “Yah,” he says, and though Jaebum’s not even looking at Yugyeom, he can tell he’s probably down for laundry duty again tonight. “Help me with a round.”

Yugyeom drops his clothes into the overflowing hamper, making a face at the mess of monochrome and red. It’s strange that Jaebum told him to do it together rather than just dumping it on him like he usually does, but Yugyeom’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Okay.”

They sort out lights and darks in silence, the hum of KBS variety programs and people filing in and out of the kitchen to grab water and snacks in the background. Yugyeom’s tossed the last pair of socks into the drum when Jaebum comes around with the liquid detergent.

“You know,” he says, emptying half a capful in the drum. Yugyeom tidies up the remaining laundry, and braces for impact. Jaebum dawdles, taking his time to close the drum, and key in the settings, like he’s thinking of a way to phrase it.

“We met up a couple of years back.”

Yugyeom stares at a pair of (Bambam’s, probably) bright pink boxers for lack of anything better to stare at. “Okay.”

“He grew up,” Jaebum says dismissively. “Mostly. You’d be proud.”

A hollow laugh bubbles its way from Yugyeom’s stomach to his throat. It calms, him, somewhat. “Okay.”

There’s silence for a while, as Jaebum starts on the dishes, and Yugyeom stands, feeling properly shamed. He raises his voice a little, hoping it’ll reach the voices in his head. “I’m not- I never was upset. Ever.”

Jaebum sets a dish on the rack, starting to rinse the others. “Never said you couldn’t be.”

Yugyeom squares his jaw, feeling frustration well up in him at the fact that Jaebum’s not getting it. “It’s stupid to get upset over something like that.”

_And I’m not stupid._

Jaebum hums, setting a handful of chopsticks in the metal wire box. “It’s fine to get upset over anything,” he says. “As long as you get over it in the end.”

Yugyeom doesn’t say a word.

“Are you over it?”

For a long while, the only sound in the kitchen belongs to the running water, hitting the metal sink, and of Yugyeom’s fabricated fortitude, being worn down to the ground.

For the first time tonight, he’s honest.

“No,” Yugyeom says, in the tiniest voice, a stark and rather cumbersome contrast to the way he’s towering over everything.

If he’s surprised or disappointed, Jaebum doesn’t show it. “You can, though.”

He waits one second, two, while Yugyeom stands silently behind him, before aside, nodding towards another stack of dishes. “Come over here and help me with these.”

Yugyeom takes the opportunity for reprieve gratefully, and thinks it all over as he scrubs dishes with a sponge mechanically, barely noticing when Youngjae comes into the kitchen and whines about how they keep running out of honey.

He summarises his life neatly that night, noting that he’s spent almost five years out of eighteen telling himself he has, five minutes knowing he hasn’t, and five seconds believing he can.

It’s not fantastic, but it’s an improvement, and he’ll take what he can get.

“Thanks,” Yugyeom says, as he passes the last bowl to Jaebum. He makes sure to keep it vague, as to whether he’s saying it for the washing or the life advice, but he’s pretty sure the leader gets it anyway.

He’d be hard pressed to find something Jaebum  _doesn’t_  get, anyway.

*

(Yugyeom talks about it easily during the pair video they film for the fans. It’s a little victory, but then again it’s the little things he’s learnt to be grateful for.

Jaebum is cautious the same way Jinyoung is tender, brusque the way Jinyoung’s sensitive, and Yugyeom sandwiches himself neatly between them on the van ride home after it all, irrationally pleased with himself.

This time, it actually lasts.)

*

Bambam’s getting quieter these days, in that snide, decisive way that sends out vibes of independence none of them can ignore.

Yugyeom doesn’t think he’s grown much, not the way Bambam has. Probably more than Youngjae, though- but that’s the older boy’s charm. Yugyeom’s just stuck somewhere unattractively in between. It’s not the high life but it’s not bad, either, and he’s learnt to be grateful for what he has.

The maknae stretches his legs out on the practice room floor, drinking from a bottle of water, half his mind on the new choreo and the other half on tripping Jinyoung as he walks by.

It’s a complete, terrific success, and Yugyeom cackles, scrambling to his feet and booking it as Jinyoung yells. They do a few rounds of the studio, until Jinyoung retires, out of breath and glaring, to a corner.

Naturally, Yugyeom goes back to him, dropping down beside him when he senses the other boy’s not in the mood for games anymore, and as nonchalantly as possible, he hands him a water bottle.

“You’re okay?” Jinyoung asks, smiling as he accepts the bottle, though he’s clearly the one breathing like every inhale could be his last, and Yugyeom reclines against the mirror.

“I think you should be asking yourself that, hyung,” he snickers, and Jinyoung bats him with the bottle.

They’re all too warm and sweaty for hugs, and Yugyeom makes that opinion clear when he shoulders Jinyoung away, watching for his expression and laughing when the older boy huffs, displeased.

“You and Bambam are one and the same,” he grumbles. “Unfilial brats. Hyung,” he calls out to Jaebum, who looks over suspiciously, before settling on Yugyeom’s other side. “The kids have forgotten who raised them.”

“I haven’t!” Yugyeom protests, but he swivels on his butt, propping his legs up over Jaebum’s and laying his head comfortably on Jinyoung’s lap, folding his arms over his stomach. “Really.”

He lies like that for a while, revelling in the attention, and to his surprise, neither of them attempt to pitch him off or tell him to let them go settle the adult stuff. It’s a comforting thought.

Then Bambam protests, from the other side of the room, that Yugyeom’s getting preferential treatment, and the maknae hisses, clamping down protectively on both his human cushions.

“Stop, ahh stop stop,” Jaebum recoils, prodding at Yugyeom’s calves. “ _Yah_ , it was like you cut off all circulation to my legs.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Yugyeom says resolutely, closing his eyes and crossing his arms. “I’m being filial.”

Jinyoung yawns, fluffing up Yugyeom’s hair sleepily. “In case you’re looking for better ideas, Jaebum-hyung and I appreciate barbecued meat.”

“You’re never free,” the maknae whines, and it’s true. Jaebum’s already looking in concern over where Jackson’s giving Youngjae  _stretching lessons_ , though it looks more like he’s trying to dislocate something.

No one says anything, and for a moment Yugyeom’s disappointed. It’s short-lived.

“We’re free now,” Jinyoung says, and Yugyeom sees him give Jaebum a warning look out of the corner of his eye. “You just have to ask if you want our attention.”

“I’m not a baby,” Yugyeom says indignantly, shifting his head so he’s looking up at Jinyoung.

“No one said you were,” Jaebum lets out a breathy laugh, squeezing Yugyeom’s knees and looking slightly worried as Youngjae’s shouts start to climb in volume and pitch.

Yugyeom wraps his arms around Jinyoung’s thighs like they’re a pillow, and the older man’s legs jerk as his fingers brush a ticklish spot. He waits one breath, two, before saying it, like it’s ripping something out of his chest.

“Thank you.”

Both of them hear it- he can tell by the way they look at each other for confirmation, and it’s both slightly demeaning and mostly gratifying. But also a little creepy.

Yugyeom’s saved from a potential awkward comeback as Youngjae shrieks, this close to shattering the mirrors and lights, and Jaebum gets up to go over and pull them apart, followed closely by Jinyoung.

Bambam thumps down beside Yugyeom as he’s righting himself, panting and grinning and shoving over a bag of crisps as Jaebum inhales, turning to face Jackson with a very signature (and very familiar, both of them can admit with no shame) glare.

“Jackson’s gonna be around all week, he doesn’t have other schedules for once,” Bambam chews noisily on a prawn chip. “Wanna bet Jaebum-hyung’s gonna burst a blood vessel by Friday?”

“Nah,” Yugyeom grabs a crisp for himself, watching as Jinyoung starts piecing Youngjae back together, while Jackson states his case in an outburst of loud protests (though Jaebum’s clearly not listening). He waits for a while, trying to figure out a good way to put it.

“You mean he’s dealt with worse,” Bambam raises a brow, whilst popping another handful of crisps into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom grabs the bag from him before he can finish everything, grinning, and Bambam whines. “Yeah, something like that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't want to include this at first but strangely here i am! if you're out there feeling vaguely angry and embarrassed about someone that happened to you, monsters are scarier in the dark under little beds, and memories are even worse than commercials at portraying an accurate depiction of whatever they're about. don't lose the war before you meet your enemy, because the only thing to fear out there is fear itself \o/ but even more than fearing fear, fear repression of fear, because if you're afraid, there's probably a reason why, and pretending you're not afraid is not going to make you fearless- understanding is. i could write an entire essay on this and i'm quite sure i already have, so i'm going to cut it off here ^.^ thank you for reading this far (if you have cries) and comments are appreciated as per normal, huggles <3333


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